


Praying for Love, Paying With Naivety

by TheRudeTasteofSane



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Hanahaki Disease, M/M, but not really
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-14
Updated: 2020-07-14
Packaged: 2021-03-05 03:13:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,066
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25257490
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheRudeTasteofSane/pseuds/TheRudeTasteofSane
Summary: "You've blinded yourself to it. How tragic. I was hoping it'd be different for you," she sighed, looking mournfully at him. "Unfortunately, it seems like you'll die as the rest of them have."
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 4
Kudos: 39





	Praying for Love, Paying With Naivety

**Author's Note:**

> Ambiguous timeline, set about season 12ish.

  
  
  
As in tune with his own body as he was, Dean knew the moment he woke up that there was something wrong.  
  
A sort of pressure that definitely hadn’t been there last night had made itself at home in his chest, and while it wasn’t painful ( _yet_ , his brain supplied unhelpfully) it was insistent and uncomfortable. He massaged his chest, wincing when it aggravated the condition.  
  
Sam came out of the bathroom then, his eyebrows furrowing when he spotted Dean’s tense frame at the edge of the bed.  
  
“What’s wrong?” he asked and Dean rubbed his forehead, turning from slightly opened curtains letting in sunlight.

“I need coffee,” he muttered hoarsely, and Sam relaxed. He scoffed, not bothering to hide a smile, and grabbed his jacket.  
  
“Yeah, I’ll bet. Those elephants running around your skull aren’t gonna get rid of themselves,” he teased, laughing when Dean threw a pillow at his head.  
  
He left a few minutes later to grab some breakfast, and Dean slumped on the bed after the door closed.  
  
Whatever this.. new condition was, he wasn’t going to let Sam know about it until he knew for sure it was harmless.  
  
First thing’s first, though. Nature calls.  
  
Dean pushed himself up off the mattress and almost slammed his forehead against Castiel’s.  
  
Too used to it by then to flinch, Dean nonetheless let out several swears.  
  
“Damn it, Cas. We’ve _talked_ about this,” he choked out, just barely overcoming the sudden agonizing squeeze in his chest. Unlike Sam, however, Dean couldn’t fool Castiel.  
  
The angel’s eyes narrowed, laser-focused on Dean, and he stepped way, _way_ too close for comfort. Dean dropped to his knees, grunting as the squeeze turned into a vice.  
  
“There’s magic at work here,” Castiel’s voice sounded tinny in Dean’s ears, and the only thought in his mind was to get away from the angel.  
  
He scooted backwards, sighing in relief when the pressure on his ribs eased. He looked up at Castiel, snorting.  
  
“Gee Cas, you don’t say,” he responded sarcastically, coughing as he got up off the floor. “I mean, we ain’t exactly relaxing on the beach and drinking cocktails here. 5 people have died in the past two months, all of ‘em with their internal organs popped like balloons.”  
  
Castiel wandered near the door, seemingly unfocused in his quick sweep of the room.  
  
“There are no signs of demonic influence in the area,” he announced, and Dean shrugged.  
  
“Great. Least we can rule them out,” he headed to the bathroom. “Well, it’s been a lovely little chat, Cas, but uh.. I got human stuff to take care of.”  
  
“ _Dean_ ,” he turned at the sound of Castiel’s voice, twitching when he came face to face with the angel. Up close, Dean couldn’t look away from the deep blue of Cas’s eyes, like it was some kind of animal magnetism thing. He hissed as his chest tightened painfully, and stepped back.  
  
Feeling just a bit lost over the whole situation, Dean couldn’t help the flash of guilt when the intensity of the moment vanished, and Castiel’s expression shuttered.  
  
“Be careful,” the angel warned gently, then disappeared with a whispery rustle of feathers. And if Dean heard the note of concern in the angel’s voice, he pretended it didn’t warm his entire body.  
  
  
\--  
  
  
After Sam returned with coffee and breakfast, he and Dean dressed in their FBI best and headed to the county morgue to see what kind of clues they could drum up from the victims.  
  
Three men and two women, varying in age from late teens to early forties. 

Despite their best efforts, they couldn’t find any evidence of angels or demons, nor were there any signs of ritualistic murder. Two and a half hours later, the coroner came back in to see if they needed any help.  
  
Sam headed over to talk to the coroner while Dean wrapped up their examination of the last vic. He sighed, feeling like this had been a colossal let down, when he saw a tiny spot of something blueish at the back of the guy’s throat.  
  
He grabbed a pair of tweezers, carefully extracting a piece of a blue flower petal. He looked over to Sam and the coroner, brandishing the tweezers.  
  
“So, doc.. Any of the other patients have anything weird in their throats when they died?” he questioned, and the coroner nodded.  
  
“One of the women had half an orchid petal stuck to her uvula,” she confirmed, and Sam shared a look with Dean.  
  
“I think that will be all, Dr. Green. Thanks for your time,” Sam offered her a smile that she returned with a salacious twist.  
  
“Come back any time,” she offered, and walked to her office with a definite swing to her hips. Dean came to stand next to Sam, his expression ornery.  
  
“Man, how come all the really hot ones want a piece of you and not me?” Dean complained, and Sam smirked.  
  
“Maybe it’s just my charm. You’re not exactly smooth, Dean,” Dean scowled and punched Sam’s shoulder.  
  
“Fuck you very much, there’s tons of chicks who’d disagree with that,” he argued on their way out of the morgue.  
  
“Oh yeah? That why you haven’t kicked me out of the room to fuck anyone in the last year or so?” Sam needled and Dean swore, his mind flashing back to the look in Castiel’s eyes earlier in the motel room without his consent. He stumbled, feeling like he couldn’t breathe all of a sudden. Just as soon as it had come, though, the feeling disappeared, and Dean noticed his chest felt… heavier, somehow.  
  
He did his best to shake off the concern in Sam’s eyes, irritable and frustrated that he didn’t know _why_. Why his chest seemed so tight now, like there wasn’t enough room in his ribcage for his organs, and why it only seemed to get worse when he thought about _Cas_. He refused to examine it too closely, scared of what truth he’d discover underneath it all.  
  
Thankfully, Dean was a fucking _pro_ at burying his feelings.  
  
  
\--  
  
  
Their next stop was, of course, the latest victim’s apartment. 

The guy’s roommate, a woman named Rose, explained that she’d woken up the morning before his death and heard him in the bathroom hurling like he was hungover.  
  
“But David.. he’d never drunk a day in his life. His folks were alcoholics, so he wouldn’t touch the stuff,” Rose sighed. “He came out of the bathroom and he looked.. well, awful. Pale and sweaty, breathing like he’d ran a marathon. But when he saw me, he just smiled.” A tear rolled down one cheek, and she quickly wiped it away. “I.. I miss him. He was there whenever I needed him, and I took it for granted that he’d always be there.”  
  
Dean thought again (rather guiltily) of Castiel, all the times the angel had helped not just him, but Sam as well. Always at his behest. Hell, Castiel had _died_ for him more than once, nevermind the fact that he’d come back.  
  
And suddenly, Dean needed to _go_ because he felt like he was gonna puke all over the living room floor.  
  
He excused himself hastily and fled outside, the nearest place to empty his stomach of their contents. He made it around the corner before he couldn’t hold it in anymore.  
  
But it wasn’t the breakfast he’d eaten earlier that came out of his mouth. No, it was fucking _flower petals_. He gasped in between heaves, smelling a vaguely familiar scent surrounding him.  
  
“My goodness,” an attractive redhead was staring at Dean with undisguised fascination. “I can hardly believe it’s this severe already. You love him _very_ strongly, don't you?”  
  
“W-what?” Dean asked dumbly, and the redhead tsked.  
  
“You’ve blinded yourself to it. How tragic. I was hoping it would be different for you,” she sighed, looking mournfully at him. “Unfortunately though, it seems you’ll die as the rest of them have.”  
  
He pushed himself off the wall, where he’d slumped in exhaustion.  
  
“But not today, witch,” Dean’s eyes flicked over to Castiel, flower petals pouring from his lips once more in the angel’s presence.  
  
The redhead’s eyes widened and she frowned unhappily.  
  
“Oh dear. It all makes terrible sense now,” she continued, as if Castiel hadn’t spoken. “No wonder your flower is a jonquil. I’m so sorry, Dean. Truly. I wish I had known the situation before this.”  
  
When Dean was able to see past the tears streaming from his eyes, the redhead was gone, and Castiel was looking at him with an unreadable expression.  
  
But before either of them could say anything, Dean started coughing, fingers clawing the brick wall of the apartment building as something forced its way up his throat.  
  
He spit out a whole jonquil bloom in the palm of his hand, his features set grimly at the bright red blood all over it.  
  
  
\--  
  
  
Back at the hotel room, Sam scrolled through hundreds of internet pages for any kind of being that could cause people to throw up flowers while Dean pored over their dad’s journal and the books they’d borrowed from the local library. 

Castiel had disappeared after the encounter with the mysterious redhead, and was tight-lipped as usual about the entire thing. Stupid angel.

Dean coughed, a handful of jonquil petals tinged with blood falling down the front of his shirt.

“So.. they’re jonquils, she said?” Sam asked, breaking the too-loud, too-tense silence of the room.

Dean nodded, not quite trusting himself to speak yet. He took a shaky breath, and let it out slowly.

“Yeah. She said something like ‘ _No wonder your flowers are jonquils. I'm sorry_.’ What the fuck’s that even supposed to mean?” he grumbled, and Sam sighed. He was looking at Dean, and he had that face that Dean knew meant he was about to say something unpleasant.

“Spit it out already, Sam,” he snapped waspishly. Sam sat back from the computer, fidgeting with a bottle cap.

“I think I know what it means. Flowers have a language, you know, and.. well, jonquils basically mean unrequited love,” he all but whispered the last part, his cheeks flushed red. Dean said nothing, his jaw clenched tightly. Sam cleared his throat, and continued. 

“There's more. After you left, I checked our vic’s room. Dean.. He was in love with Rose. And I’ve done some digging on our other vics. Turns out, every one of them were also experiencing unrequited love,” Sam finished, glancing furtively at his brother. 

Dean let it sink in, before he tilted his head back and laughed. 

“So I'm _dying_ because my crush doesn't like me back?” His laughter sounded hollow, self-deprecating. “Christ, what kind of fucking chick flick is this?”

“I'm sorry,” the brothers immediately grabbed their weapons when the redhead appeared in front of Dean. “If I could undo the spell, I would. But the only way is to have your feelings returned.” 

Sam went for her, but it was too late. She put her arm up and after a brief, blinding flash of light, he was lying facedown on the motel room floor. 

The woman's eyes were immeasurably sad as she turned and looked into Dean's eyes. 

“You'll always choose to love people unavailable to you, Dean. Jo Harvelle, for example,” she leaned in close, hand cupping Dean's neck with tender generosity. “Your angel.”

Dean gasped at the feel of what must've been roots tightening around his ribcage. It was an oddly sweet ache, as he thought of Castiel. 

The sense of safety Castiel imparted on Dean whenever he was nearby. The hundred, thousand times Castiel had answered Dean's pleas for help, no matter the cost to himself. The way Castiel stood so close, the way Castiel _looked_ at him, like he was the most precious thing in existence.

Dean forced himself to stop thinking, to focus on the pain of his ribs cracking. He swallowed against the tide of flower petals pushing at his lips, taking shallow, wheezing breaths as he looked up at the redhead. 

“Who are you?” He demanded, raising his gun to point at her chest. 

“I'm a goddess. A goddess of love,” she tossed his gun over her shoulder, shaking her head. “My name is not important.”

“So what’s a goddess of love doing killing people, then?” he challenged, coughing a little. “Seems just a little contradictory if you ask me.” She sat next to Dean on his bed, taking hold of his hand.

“Love takes many forms, Dean. Sometimes, it's familiar and strong.. but complicated, like the kind you have for your brother. Sometimes it's passion, the racing heart and widened pupils that happens when you see someone you're sexually attracted to. And then there are not so nice types like obsession, that consumes your body and soul, the way you feel about your job. Or unrequited love, the kind that festers in a million little ways, that causes you to break into pieces,” she smoothed a hand over Dean’s face, both of them knowing who she meant. “You see, love is the multi-faceted crown jewel of creation.”

“Well what about you, huh? Your love,” She smiled radiantly, apparently pleased he’d asked the question.

“ _My_ love? It’s the kind of love that everyone and no one wishes to have. Both merciful and cruel, because I have love enough to kill,” tears shimmered in her eyes. “It’s been a pleasure, Dean. I haven’t met a human who loves as fiercely as you in years.”

She’d just leaned down to kiss Dean when Castiel appeared and shoved a spear through her chest, missing Dean’s hip by a spare margin. She disappeared in a swath of flames, her scream cut short. 

All at once, the pressure in Dean's chest disappeared and he gasped in air. He looked up at Castiel and nodded. 

“Thanks,” he offered gruffly, the thoughts of Castiel that had plagued him all day still swirling around in his brain. 

The angel in question quirked a tiny smile, genuine warmth lighting up his face. 

Dean swallowed past the sudden lump in his throat, eyes glued to the angel in front of him, his inner self screaming at him to say _something_ besides thanks, for fuck's sake. 

But then Sam just had to go and ruin the moment. 

“What the hell just happened?” he slurred, and Dean looked away from Castiel to smirk at Sam.

“The goddess of love happened,” he waggled his eyebrows, and Sam rolled his eyes. Dean turned away from Sam and faced where Castiel had been standing. The spot was empty now, but the smell of ozone in the air meant that the angel hadn’t gone far. 

“No, dipshit, I meant how'd you kill her? And didn't she say the only way to reverse the spell is if your feelings were returned?” Sam positively cackled when Dean remained silent, jaw flexing.

“Oh my God, dude. Cas has the hots for you,” Sam started cracking up again, until Castiel spoke. 

“I am not capable of expressing lust the way humans do,” he defended stiffly. “Though, at least in human form, I am perfectly capable of sexual intercourse.”

Dean choked at the blunt response, face aflame with embarrassment. 

“O- _kay_ , that's enough on that subject,” he interrupted loudly, amidst the sounds of Sam dying behind him. 

Dean looked at Castiel, eyes softening when the angel met his gaze. It seemed like the world fell away, background noise fading into a serene silence. When he looked around, he realized that Castiel had taken the liberty of transporting them somewhere Sam wasn't. 

“Cas..,” Dean breathed, startling when he blinked and the angel was almost nose to nose with him. 

“Dean,” Castiel acknowledged, face inscrutable. Dean tore his focus from the angel, feeling woefully unprepared for the conversation he knew was about to happen. 

“How long did you watch?” he questioned, facing the window and the outside world. Wherever they were, it was still daylight. 

“Long enough,” Cas answered, frustratingly ambiguous as usual. He came to stand directly in front of Dean, and Dean's hands tightened into fists. “What about you, Dean? How long?” and Dean knew Castiel wasn't talking about watching.

“I thought you woulda known already,” Dean couldn't prevent the note of bitterness that crept into his voice. “I never meant...” 

“To fall in love?” Dean flinched at the word. “While I cannot love you the way you love me, I have always tried to express my.. esteem for you, Dean. I am sorry if you misinterpreted my actions.” 

Dean's nails cut into his palms, probably broadcasting the constant ’ _not good enough_ ’ running through his mind, if Castiel's momentary grimace was anything to go by. 

“Yeah. Right. Can't or won't?” Castiel said nothing, but his expression sharpened to let Dean know he was in dangerous territory, and Dean felt like the biggest idiot in existence. “Thought so.”

Castiel reached out, and Dean stepped back. 

“Just go,” his voice was hard, steely. He looked at Cas, the calm on his face belying the writhing pit of snakes in his stomach.

Castiel reached out, quicker than Dean could react to, and gripped him by his handprint. 

Lithe fingers tightened on his arm and Dean grunted, feeling the scar burn under Castiel's touch. He grit his teeth against the onslaught of feelings pouring into him from the angel. 

“You misunderstand me, Dean. I _can't_ ,” Cas's gravelly voice in his ear caused Dean to shudder. “There are angels who chose to continue upholding the old ways. If we tried to consummate the bond between us, my brothers and sisters would actively try to kill you.” 

Dean reached up and grabbed fistfuls of the familiar tan trench coat. 

“How about you spare me the self-righteous crap,” he uttered, smashing his mouth to Castiel's.

It felt fifty shades of _wrong_ , when Castiel didn't respond. Like kissing a cold marble statue. Dean backed away after a few minutes of awkward silence, and Castiel let him. Dean's posture was screaming with tension, and the silence lingered on until he felt forced to break it.

“Bye Cas,” he refused to look at the angel, and did his best to shove down his feelings on the situation. 

When Dean looked up at the sound of wings, he was back in his and Sam's hotel room. 

Sam was already asleep in bed, and Dean started quietly preparing his bags for departure in the morning. 


End file.
